You're Not Alone
by Juliet'sReplacement
Summary: This is an Inheritance Oneshot. Reviews are welcome in reference to my writing style. I do not own anything. This is set just after the battle, right after Oromis and Glaedr are killed.


Eragon still sat in his tent on his cot, using an oiled rag to clean his armor. He had no duties he had to attend to at the moment, thankfully. Nasuada had given him, Saphira, and Arya a couple of days to recover from Oromis' and Glaedr's deaths. And while he had at least partially reconciled with his masters' deaths... he was not quite so sure of Saphira, and even less sure of Arya, since he could not see inside her mind.

_Shadeslayer..._

A soft, respectful voice entered his mind, but Eragon did not throw up his mental barriers; he recognized this mind.

_Yes, Blodhgarm? Is there something I need to attend to?_

_Well... somewhat, Shadeslayer. Arya Drottingu has requested to speak with you at the edge of the Varden's camp._

_Ah... thank you, Blodhgarm. If she is still there, may I ask you tell her I will be out in a moment?_

_Of course, Shadeslayer._

Eragon swiftly finished with the breastplate of his armour, and made to walk out. But he passed a mirror mounted on a pole as he went out, and had to stop and stare at his reflection. He inadvertently ran two fingers over the pointed tips of his ears, the edges of his slanted eyes...

"Ugh," he muttered, shaking his head once and walking out of the tent. He nodded to Blodhgarm and the other eleven elves as he passed them, and the black-furred elf dipped his head.

"Would you like any of us to accompany you, Shadeslayer?" he asked in a quiet purr, and Eragon shook his head.

"Thank you, Blodhgarm, I think I'll be fine."

"Very well. Call if you require any of our... assistance."

"I will."

Eragon walked through camp, trying to take the path through the tents that was less traveled; he didn't exactly want to run into many people. He heard several calls of "Hail, Shadeslayer!" and was forced to nod and greet all who said it. This delayed him, and he did not want to keep Arya waiting.

_...Eragon?_

He started, having forgotten that Saphira was in his mind.

_Yes, Saphira?_

_...Please refrain from having such... _daydreams _when you are linked to me._

Eragon frowned as he walked, he hadn't realized that he had been... as Saphira put it, daydreaming.

_I'll try, Saphira, but I can't quite help it. You know how I feel about her._

_Even so._

Looking around above him, Eragon realized he didn't see Saphira anywhere. Even with his hawklike vision, he did not see the blue tint that usually gave her away.

_Where are you?_

_I'm off hunting. Care for proof?_

_Well..._

Without another word, Saphira sent her Rider a mental image of her, high up in the air where she was stalking several deer down below. Eragon hastily pushed it out of his head, not wanting to see what was coming next. It made him sick to think about a fellow creature being killed, even if it were neccessary.

_I'll talk to you later, okay? Arya wanted me to meet her..._

He caught the feeling of amusement and knowing coming from his partner's mind, and embarrasment colored his emotions.

_And will you stay out of my head while I'm talking to her? I don't know what she wants of me, but if there's anything involving the Empire or the elves, I will gladly share it with you!_

He felt another snatch of laughter from Saphira, then he cut himself from her mind. He felt empty, almost. But if he were going to talk to Arya... he'd really rather that his mental partner were _not_ there to feel his emotions...

He eventually made his way through the Varden's war camp to a tent that was a little larger than most of the others. Eragon paused briefly. He made sure his mental barriers were tight, with no holes, and used his fingers to make sure his hair was not sticking up anywhere.

"Arya Drottingu?" he asked formally, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, Eragon, please come in."

Eragon hesitantly stepped through the tent flap, and saw Arya, sitting on one end of her cot, her hands laying flat beside her legs. Her head was bowed, and her black hair draped elegantly around her. Eragon could see her posture was tense, and he wondered exactly what she had asked him to her tent to talk about.

"Arya, what is it?"

"Eragon... it is about Oromis-elda and Glaedr." The Rider's breath caught, and he blinked in surprise. But he said nothing, waiting for her to continue. "... I was not able to interact with them in... in their final weeks, and..." Arya finally looked up, and Eragon noticed that her forest-green eyes were brighter than normal. "Tell me about them, Eragon. I... I miss them."

And so Eragon the Rider and Shadeslayer sat beside Arya on her cot, and he spoke of all that his masters had done or said in the few days he had been back with them, before they had gone to Gil'ead to fight with Izlandi's and the other elves. He spoke of several of the philosiphies that Oromis had recited to him in their last days. He spoke of the simple magic that Oromis and Glaedr both had managed to pass on to him and Saphira, and of the things Oromis had told him he had contemplated. He spoke of everything that he, Oromis, Saphira, and Glaedr had spoken of, thought of, or done in their last days at Ellesmera.

And Arya listened. She did not speak a word during all of Eragon's story, though he once thought he saw a single tear glistening on her cheek. When he finished, there were several long minutes of silence. Arya finally opened her forest green eyes, and looked at Eragon.

"Why?" she whispered in a choked voice. "Why did they have to die, Eragon?"

"I don't know," he whispered quietly, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. "But I swear to you, I _will_ avenge them, Arya Svit-Kona."

Another tear slipped down her cheek as she turned away, returning her gaze to the empty space in front of her, and Eragon, before he could stop himself, used a fingertip to wipe it away. Arya whipped her face back around to stare at him in shock, then closed her eyes in defeat.

"Galbatorix has taken almost all that is dear to me," she whispered almost inaudibly. "Very few things remain."

"And what are those things, if I may ask?"

"One is my home," she said quietly. "Another is my race. A third, believe it or not as you will, is my mother." Eragon watched her solemnly. He longed to hold her, to comfort her. But the last time he had pressed his suit with her, he had almost lost her friendship for good, and had no intention of endangering it again. "... And another is you."

Eragon started. He was one of the things that was dear to her? "Me?" he asked in confusion.

"You. Not only are you the very hope and strength of Alagaesia, Eragon, but you are also... a close friend."

"A close friend." Eragon repeated in a toneless voice. His face was deadpan.

"...or more," Arya tentatively breathed, turning away again. She saw how his fists were clenched on his knees, despite his expressionless appearance. She gingerly placed a feather-light hand over his fist, and almost immediately saw and felt it begin to loosen under her touch. The elf princess raised her deep green gaze to the Rider's warm brown eyes, and she smiled slightly. Then she shifted her head to the side, tilting it until it rested lightly on his shoulder.

Eragon was shocked. Arya had always pushed him away before, but now she seemed to want to be close to him, to want comfort. And after all, who was he to deny her that? He gently put an arm around her thin shoulders, and held her close. Arya inclined her head into his chest, and he felt slight drops land on his white shirt. Her arms were curled up against her chest, and soft sobs came from her form. And Eragon had never thought that she was capable of showing such emotion. But he held her, nonetheless. And she took comfort from that. His muscled arms were around her, and she just cried herself out.

"It's okay, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, doing nothing more than speaking to her gently and holding her. He let her almost soak the front of his white shirt with her tears, and the quiet sobs finally subsided. It was nearly sunset by this point, and all things on the inside of the tent were tinted pink and coral. Eventually, Arya raised her face, and looked at him out of red-rimmed, forest green eyes.

Eragon just watched her cautiously, concerned that she would start crying again. And out of nowhere, Arya stretched forward, pressing her lips to his. His eyes went wide with shock, but he did not pull away. He just held her close, keeping their lips locked.

And when they parted, he lowered his head, gently kissing her cheeks, her neck, the tip of her nose, speaking words of comfort in a soft tone. And she just curled up against his muscular body, dark green eyes wide, seeing and remembering the loss of one of the greatest Riders that any race had ever seen, or likely ever _would _see...


End file.
